


What He Found There

by orphan_account



Category: Caprica (TV), Grimm (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-24
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if there were Wesen in all corners of different alternate realities? What if there were a species who took a special delight in offering ‘second chances’ to people they perceive as wayward souls, whether those chances are wanted or not?</p><p>Lately, Sean Renard has been having troubling dreams where he's someone else altogether in a world not like his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Possible spoilers for Caprica up to “The Dirteaters” and possible spoilers for Grimm up to “Season of the Hexenbiest”. Unbeta-ed.

 

 

 

 

“What He Found There”  
Chapter One

~***~

Sam came awake with a lung-burning gasp.

Most people didn’t experience such shock and awe at waking up, but might be inclined to if they, like Sam, had been under the impression they’d never wake up again. Execution-style bullets to the head usually led to that manner of thinking, really.

The Tauron was vaguely aware of a cold sweat spreading clammy all across his body, making him shiver from more than just shock. Air entered and left his lungs in great whooshing gasps that caused him no small amount of pain. His eyes felt massive in their sockets, wide with surprise, but not actually taking anything in just yet. His brain hadn’t caught up with the rest of his body. It was still trying desperately to make sense of the concept that he was still alive. It made no sense. He’d heard the gun go off, smelled the sulfurous discharge as it belched from the muzzle, felt the heat…

Everything seemed to hit him all at once, white-hot, and Sam jerked quickly like he’d been punched in the chest, coughing and retching. It took the very last of his energy out of him and he collapsed on his side, gritting his teeth. All the fight gone out of his body for the time being, details slowly began to filter back into his mind. Swallowing thickly, he remembered walking through the streets of Little Tauron early in the morning before any of the usual vendors were out. He’d had a fight with Larry…another wearying row about the Civil War their people were currently fighting that had ended with him slamming out in a fit of pique to keep the shouting match from escalating. He remembered how hot his temper had burned in the pit of his belly, how it had turned him deaf and blind in the dim light of the wee hours and made him such an easy fucking target. He’d never even heard them coming.

Head aching from the memories, the injury and the smell of his own sick, Sam groaned and turned over onto his other side.

A man had grabbed him out of nowhere and thrown him so hard into a wall he thought he’d been hit by a truck at first, the impact doing unpleasant things to his head, spine and tailbone before he slid to the ground. It had dazed him…left him staring stupidly up at the guy who’d had the balls to attack an assassin of the Ha’La’Tha. Of course, a more lucid part of his mind snarked back, when you could throw a grown man better than most pro-Pyramid players could throw a ball, maybe you tended to worry a lot less about who you roughed up. Still trying to get his wits back and a hand on his knives, he’d heard a gun cock. Not good. So many worlds of not good. He’d frozen and lifted his hands then, trying to ease the guy into a false sense of security until he could defend himself properly. Of course it had only amused the fucker.

Were it not for the very real threat of the gun, Sam would have growled when he heard a low chuckle accompanied by a deep, sonorous voice, “You, Sam Adama, have made some very poor decisions.”

Gun be damned, Sam wasn’t letting that pass without rebuttal, “Never heard of a man’s conscience being licensed to pack heat.”

He heard footsteps and then the cool muzzle of a weapon was tickling at his temple, “It’s a dangerous world, Sam, and one that you are quickly losing control of. People like you make bad decisions every day. A man needs a little back-up in the face of such overwhelming odds.”

‘Good,’ Sam thought, slowly coming around, ‘keep him talking.’

“Is that so?” He let a low deadpan creep into his voice, just humouring the creep until he could get that gun away…

“Hell in a Handbasket doesn’t even describe what this world is in for, Adama,” the man nearly sneered and there was something so off about the comment that Sam finally let himself LOOK at his attacker.

The man was big. There was no other way to describe him. Everything about him was huge. The one hand Sam could see was more like a massive paw than anything resembling human and his frame dominated the narrow alley where they currently found themselves. His shoulders seemed to span wall to wall and suddenly Sam was intimately aware of just HOW this guy had launched him like a sack of potatoes. He wore a long coat that mostly hid any details about his figure away, brim of his hat dipped low. It left Sam with just an impression of ‘big’ and little else, but the man realized that he finally had his prey’s attention good and proper. His focus became laser-intense, boring into the trapped gangster like a solid wall of energy even though Sam couldn’t even begin to see his eyes. The gun nudged his temple more firmly and Sam had the distinct realization for the first time in this entire encounter that he was well and truly fucked.

“However, Adama, unlike a great deal of others in this city, I think you’ve got some grit. You could benefit from a chance to make some good decisions,” the man had continued and then…

Then he’d fired the gun right into the side of Sam’s head and there had been the flash and the pain and then…

Then he’d woken up.

The last memory of the encounter grew fuzzy in his brain as an alarm clock suddenly went off to one side of his bed, cutting like a razor through the thick silence of the early morning. It was like a bucket of ice-water over Renard’s head as he shook himself and forced the dream off of him like an ill-fitting robe. Damn! Again! That same dream again. It had started one or two years ago and it liked to repeat itself several nights in a row every three months or so. At first, it hadn’t started as much…just a few images before he startled awake, but with time, it had become more detailed. Still, even with more length and precision, it was still just a troublesome recurring dream. It had only started to become a nuisance when aspects of it followed him over into the waking world. A few months ago, it had reached a point where this ‘Sam’ character clung to him like a second skin for the first few moments after waking, leaving him panicked and confused before reason invariably set in once more.

Catching a faint scent on the air, Renard cursed to himself. Apparently it had been strong enough this morning to make him throw up on his floor like a frightened child. Would the ignominy never cease? He’d not exactly gotten a new housekeeper since Kimura had broken in and murdered the last one. It wasn’t a matter of respect, really…he’d liked the woman and it was tragic she’d been slaughtered, but he wasn’t exactly the mourning type. It had simply become a matter of not having any extra time to go through the rigorous screening process to find another. Not that he would ask anyone else to clean up this mess anyway. If the Prince of Portland was anything, it was a private man, and he absolutely refused to share something as humiliating as this with anyone. No, embarrassing as it was, he’d clean it himself and then simply go about his day pretending it hadn’t happened.

It was all he could do. There was too much at stake to waste time worrying over something infantile like a dream.

His mind sorted, Sean Renard rose from bed (carefully avoiding the ‘remnant’ of his nightmare) and went about making himself presentable. He cleaned his floor, showered, located a suit for the day and pondered breakfast before turning his nose up at the idea. His stomach was still in a bit of disarray despite his firm internal chastisement, so breakfast would have to wait until he felt suitably confident that he wouldn’t embarrass himself again. The only option that left him with was leaving early enough to get a cup of coffee by the station before he had to face his officers for the day. The higher-ups currently had him neck-deep in a murder case that ran the risk of turning the whole city upside-down if they didn’t get a handle on it and fast. To say he wasn’t concerned about it would be an egregious untruth…however, he was releasing the case to Burkhardt and Griffin today. Between Nick’s overzealous ferreting and Hank’s hound-like instinct to follow doggedly along, Renard knew it would find itself resolved one way or another before things got too out-of-hand.

Settled, Sean took one last look at himself in the mirror, straightening his tie before stepping out the door. He couldn’t help the brief jolt of ‘wrongwrongwrong’ that hit his belly when all he saw was unmarred skin and not a black tattoo in sight. He tightened his jaw, clenched his fist around his car keys (retrieved from a bowl beneath the mirror by the door), and slammed out, the door shutting heavy behind him.

If only he could turn Burkhardt loose on his brain instead of this case.

 

 

 

~***~

By the time Sean got to the Precinct, he had a slightly lessened headache and a cup of burnt, bitter coffee to show for his troublesome morning.  There was still a bit of peace in the station as he walked in, but of course there were still some officers around from the night shift or just getting in for the day.  He only wished he could be surprised that one of the officers about was his errant Baby Grimm, Nick Burkhardt.  He also wished he could be surprised about being unable to tell whether the man was just getting done for a long night or just starting on a long day.  He might have even wished he could feel pity about making the young man’s day even longer by the case he intended to drop on him as soon as he got his attention. 

Nick…looked like hell, quite frankly.  He had ever since Juliette had moved out of their shared home.  Honestly, these days it looked like his youngest Detective spent more nights passed out on a desk than in a bed, dark bags under his stormy grey eyes just this side of green.  Some days he looked so worn out that his skin almost seemed paper-thin.  It was less than ideal and yes, it DID worry Renard, but Nick was a big boy and until it affected his police (or Grimm) work, his Captain would allow him some dignity and not chastise him like a child.  He knew where his limits were and if he didn’t, then he’d find out soon enough and learn from it.  After all, it wasn’t Renard’s job to mommy him.  Not that it mattered.  The Captain would have been a terrible mother anyway.  He wasn’t so much the nurturing type as the ‘you-will-learn-faster-from-sticking-the-penny-in-the-light-socket-than-from-me-saying-not-to’ type.

Face set in the neutral mask he favoured, Sean walked up behind where Nick was currently slumping in his chair, “Detective Burkhardt.” 

There was a bit of satisfaction in watching the Grimm jerk like a marionette when his crisp voice cut in behind the man.  Nick spun quickly, nearly giving himself whiplash as he turned to face whoever had snuck up on him.  There was another little twinge in Sean’s gut when he saw the Grimm relax upon realizing it was only him.  So much trust…

Nick ran a hand over his face and spoke, “What is it, sir?”

“As soon as Detective Griffin gets in, come to my office.  We’ve got a new case and you two have been requested specially for it after your success on the Ferren case.  District Attorney Castro wants you on it,” Renard said, standing with one hand in his pocket, feeling about as wretched as Nick looked.

He raked a gaze over Nick, “…Are you up for it, Detective?”

Sean watched as a light went on in Nick’s eyes and his shoulders straightened.  Christ, it was like watching a spotlight come on somewhere inside him.  He wasn’t sure if that was the Grimm rising to a challenge or just Nick’s nature, but it pleased him all the same.  The Royal in him purred with delight over having a subject (unwitting or no) so willing to serve.  It settled him a little more in himself for the day.

Nick replied, “Yeah. I’ll be in as soon as Hank gets here.”

“Good.  That’s what I like to hear,” was all that Sean said by way of approval before whisking past Nick’s desk and into the sanctity of his office.

To be honest, Renard was grateful that Castro wanted Nick on this particular case.  It meant it would be out of his hair that much sooner.  The young man was a particular breed of stubborn the likes of which the Royal hadn’t even seen in his (particularly) bull-headed family.  ‘Except for Larry’, his mind supplied eagerly.  As he sat down at his desk, there was a bizarre sort of mental delay before everything caught up and the tall man realized he didn’t actually know who ‘Larry’ was.  Did he know a Larry? Where the hell had his brain gotten that? Troubled all over again, he sipped at his coffee and flipped open the first manila folder on his desk, sent over last night from the DA’s office.  He had to get this straight before Nick came in.  He and his partner were worse than bloodhounds and there was no way in this or any hell that Renard was going to allow himself to be seen as anything but Perfectly Put Together. 

Anything less was unacceptable.

~***~

Nick watched his Captain retreat into his ‘lair’ and groaned, flopping back in his chair.  It had been another excruciatingly long night last night and he was absolutely sure that there was a merciless God up there just laughing his ass off right this very moment.  For the past week, Nick and Monroe had been buried in the trailer until nearly dawn every night digging for information.  It had all started late Sunday evening while the two of them were relaxing with a beer on Monroe’s porch, watching the sun go down when suddenly, the Blutbad had straightened up like a shot in his chair.  At first, Nick had tried to laugh it off with a joke about his friend scenting a rabbit and that he should ‘go fetch, boy’, but even that failed to rouse the wolf’s ire.  He had stood there, ramrod straight and still, nose twitching as he took in the air.  It had actually unsettled the Grimm.  He’d never seen Monroe that focused…well, he’d seen Monroe focused…but the other man was a MOVER.  He was constantly tinkering or fidgeting or gesticulating.  He was never just…still.

It was unnatural enough to worry Nick deeply.

The Blutbad had finally snapped out of it when he’d given a sharp shout, but he’d been shaken even after.  Whatever it was he had smelled, he’d said, it wasn’t anything he’d smelled before and it was definitely going on his ‘not-to-be-fucked-with’ list.  It was a list that Nick took very seriously, seriously enough that they had promptly dropped what they’d been doing and made an immediate hike out to his trailer to find a possible culprit.  Of course, when the only thing you had to go on was a scent, it led to a lot of digging with a lot of nothing to show for it.  It was almost a week later and they still hadn’t found a single thing.  Still, Monroe’s reaction had been extreme enough to prompt them both to keep looking.

Of course now all Nick wanted to do was put his head down on his desk and pass out for a few years until life made sense again.

Apparently, however, the Universe was a cruel mistress with a hard-on for Nicholas Burkhardt’s misery because not ONLY was he getting a new case from the Captain, but it was one that would undoubtedly throw him in the ring with District Attorney Castro.  Again.  This was all bound to end in very unmanly tears, wailing and gnashing teeth.  There was no other possible outcome.  Groaning, Nick let his head hand in his hands, wincing as gravity tried to pull him all the way down to the paper-strewn finish of his desk.  He almost hated Monroe for working from home until he remembered the man had a house-call today and something very childish in Nick was soothed by the knowledge that he wasn’t going to be the only one suffering today and it was the wolf’s nose that had started it anyway

, so they were in it together.  He rubbed at his forehead.

All told, it took another fifteen minutes for Hank to stroll in, looking inordinately chipper.  Nick wanted to hate him just a little bit until his partner sauntered up with two cups of coffee, plunking one down before him like a peace offering.  The gift of caffeine automatically gave the other man a pass to be as obnoxious as he wanted in Nick’s books…at least for now.

Settling down in his own chair, Hank cocked a grin at Nick and started shuffling files, “You look like you slept rough, Princess.  Somebody put a pea under your mattress?”

Holding his coffee like a shield, Nick set his jaw.  Ever since ‘coming out’ as a Grimm to his partner, the man had decided it was his opportunity to be truly hilarious and make with the fairy-tale themed jokes.  If he kept it up, Nick was seriously going to split a side and it wasn’t going to be his own.

“No,” he shot back, taking a drink of his coffee and leaning forward so he could keep his voice down and still be heard, “Monroe smelled something pretty…outrageous in the woods awhile ago.  We’ve been trying to make sure it’s not a threat.”

Hank let the jokes drop and leaned in seriously, “Well? Is it?”

Nick shook his head with the slightest edge of frustration and bewilderment, “No idea.  We can’t find a damn thing and those books are huge.  We have no idea where to actually look with only a smell to go on.”

“Oh.  Your clock guy’s sure he…” Hank tapped the edge of his nose, letting the sentence trail off pointedly.

“Yeah, he did.  Oh, by the way, Captain wants us in his office now-ish.  A new case just came down and it’s a big one, apparently,” Nick steered the conversation in a new direction, pushing himself up.

“Well, let’s go then,” Hank agreed, already making a bee-line for the office.

He knocked and Renard called for them to enter, getting on with it.  It left no room for mysterious scents or troubling dreams.  There were more pressing matters at hand as Hank and Nick made their way into their Captain’s office for briefing.  His door clicked shut behind them, shutting out the rest of the world just for a little while. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renard tries to shake off the specter of his dream while Nick and Hank get an interesting briefing on a delicate case. Nick seeks out Monroe for aid, but Monroe's got his own problems to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is turning out to be a lot more intricate than I'd originally planned. I'm sorry that updates are taking so long! I don't know the Portland area or Oregon, so most of the references are coming either from the show or from maps. I've also taken some extreme liberties with the justice system, so suspend disbelief, okay?
> 
> This story will eventually live up to its Mature rating and it will be Nick/Monroe, but all in due time.
> 
> Still un-betaed.

When Nick and Hank finally seated themselves in front of him, Renard had himself mostly under control. At least, there was nothing to give him away externally. The tendrils of concern and doubt that had radiated off of him earlier were carefully reeled in behind his cool mask so that not even the Fledgeling Grimm would see him for what he was. He was the Master of his own territory once more and he could see the automatic deference such a status commanded in the expressions of his officers while they waited on his word. It eased the tension still wringing his spine just another degree.

"So," Hank started off after the briefest of pauses, "What's got the DA so worried that she had to ask for us?"

Renard's lips thinned and he lightly tossed a manila folder so it landed in front of Griffin, sliding slightly on the old wood of his desk.

"Take a look at those profiles and tell me what you see," the Captain countered, tapping one long finger on the blotter.

Looking suspicious, curiosity piqued, Hank flipped open the folder festooned with pictures and paperclips. Nick craned his head to see, blinking and looking curious before taking out a profile. He skimmed it, recognition lighting a spark behind his luminous gray eyes. 

Renard folded his hands up in front of his mouth and leaned gently against them, watching his young Detective connect the dots that he'd already discovered this morning.  ‘No poker face at all, Detective Burkhardt’, he mused to himself while Nick’s expression when from fiercely interested to surprised all in one expressive lift of those dark eyebrows, ‘Might want to work on that’.

He broke his study of Nick’s face when Hank finally piped up again, “So all of these high-ranking business officials…?”

“What’s happened to them?” Nick asked, finally breaking from his perusal of the sheets.

Renard leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, “Officially? Nothing.”

Hank looked perplexed, canting his head.  He reminded Renard of a small bird, “So then why is there a case at all if nothing’s happened?”

“It’s bigger than that, Hank.  It’s not that nothing has happened to these men, it’s that we can’t prove anything actually has happened to them,” the Captain explained patiently.

The other detective continued to look perplexed until Nick dove in and drove it home (bless him), “Hank, read these files.  There’s literally nothing.  These men are there one day and then the next…gone.  No murder evidence, no kidnapping demands…looks like most people can’t even find travel plans.  They’re just…in the wind.”

Now THAT got Hank’s attention and he jerked down to look over the files while Renard couldn’t help a little well of pride from springing up in his chest.  Ah, his clever, clever little Grimm.  He knew he could count on Nick to have it figured out that quickly.  There were times when it almost worried him how sharp the younger man could be…what intellect was nesting there behind silvery eyes.  The young detective had come so close to uncovering Renard’s intricately laid schemes once or twice and it had set him back enough to almost prove an annoyance.  He wasn’t sure what annoyed him more though…having a Grimm who could just happen to fumble upon the right answer through luck and instinct or having associates who weren’t clever enough to make up for Nick’s little strokes of enlightened serendipity.  Of course, that wasn’t to say that Hank was without merit, no…he was a sharp man, certainly, but Renard didn’t have the same connection to him as he had to Nick.

Proving that a man didn’t stay a detective very long unless he had his wits about him, Hank tapped two fingers on the picture of the nearest profile, “So there’s no evidence that any of these men or women were murdered?”

“None whatsoever,” the Captain confirmed, looking stony.

“No offense to you or DA Castro, but if this case isn’t a homicide investigation, then why give it to us?” Hank’s eyes narrowed a bit, not with ire, but curiosity.

“She’s worried.  She’s got elections coming up and a slew of high profile disappearances on her watch don’t look exactly flattering.  After you broke the Ferren Case wide open, I think she’s got it in her head that you two specialize in bizarre cases.  I have to say, I didn’t disabuse her that notion,” the older man said, letting his hands fold together on the desk.

“We have handled some pretty weird ones lately,” Detective Griffin conceded, casting Nick a rueful glance out of the corner of his eye, “But still, this seems like a case for a higher jurisdiction.  What do we do if these guys aren’t even in Portland anymore which, let’s face it, they’re probably not.”

Renard nodded and sighed heavily, “She insisted that she didn’t want anyone else pulled in barring extenuating circumstances.  She doesn’t want more rigid systems interfering.”

Hank’s mouth quirked in a snarky little smirk, the flash of his teeth bright in the office lighting, “And she wants to keep it under wraps as much as possible, right?”

The Captain pointed one finger at Hank as if to say ‘bingo’ before looking to Nick.  It was clear that Hank was on deck and curious enough to take on the case, but his younger Detective had been curiously silent, dark head bowed over the profiles.  There were four in all…a Lawyer, an Oil Executive, said Oil Executive’s trophy wife and the Accountant to one of the largest Insurance firms in the state.  Renard watched Nick read everything he possibly could, going over what he already knew in his own mind.  None of the victims had disappeared at the same time or even on the same day, not even the husband and wife, but they HAD all disappeared in the same two-week period.  There didn’t seem to be any motive or foul play, but there also wasn’t a single explanation for where they’d gone or why.  Of course, Sean was counting on Nick’s natural inclination towards do-gooding and his catlike curiosity here, but he’d also learned in the past year to be very, very careful about assuming what was a given with the younger man.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, “Detective Burkhardt? Something to share with the class?”

Nick’s head snapped up, his silvery eyes large with interest, “Has anyone gotten phone or credit card records? Paper trail seems like the most logical place to start.”

A satisfied smile curled Renard’s lips, “Well,” he replied crisply, “If that’s the logical place, then I suggest you get started.”

Nick looked considerably more awake and stood, giving the Captain a playful salute as he went, Hank close on his heels. 

As they reached the door, Renard lifted one hand, “Griffin? Burkhardt?”

Like a little top, Nick spun to absorb his words (and wasn’t that lovely?), “I don’t suppose I need to warn you that this is an extremely unorthodox move Castro is making so…”

“It’s under our hats, Captain,” Hank affirmed, ushering himself and Burkhardt out.

The door swung shut behind them and the older Captain allowed himself to lean back in his chair, blowing out some of the tensions from the morning.  What were dreams to him? What were these stupid little portents that so many people feared? He was Master of his own Domain…influential and in-control.  Even the Grimm of Portland dropped everything just to hear him speak…to obey.  There was nothing to be concerned about if it didn’t immediately impact his little kingdom and all the plans he had for it.

He shoved all other worries to the back of his mind, setting upon the massive pile of paper work that always greeted him.

~***~

The folder hit Nick’s desk with a satisfying smack as he tossed it down before seating himself in front of his computer, “Four missing socialites in a month.”

“Yeah,” Hank chuckled a bit, “Maybe if they looked under someone’s wife they’d find them.”

“Lookin’ for love in all the wrong places,” Nick snarked back, a smile half-curving his lips as this morning’s exhaustion was put to the side in favour of work.

“You look up phone records, I’ll look up credit card traces?” Hank offered as lightly as if he were making a lunch order.

Nick spun his chair to face his computer directly, shuffling a few things out of the way, “Sounds good.”

Within an hour some of Nick’s energy was already starting to dissipate.  There didn’t seem to be a single thing on the phone companies’ records and none of the wealthy missing seemed the sort to use a ‘burner’ phone.  Of course, he’d only found that out after ages of sifting through business call log after business call log after luncheon text after spouse contacts…and there was nothing out of place.  It was like looking in any upper echelon mucky-muck’s phone…full of nothing useful to anyone but them.  There wasn’t even a single contact there on any of the phones that indicated an anomaly which could turn into a lead.  Another hour and it was the same on the next phone and then the next and the one following.  The young detective was ready to bang his head down on the desk with frustration when nothing at all could be gleaned.  Had these people really disappeared into thin air?

Normally on a case like this, there would be that one number that only showed up twice that they could follow up.  Nothing.  Nada.  Dead End City.  Nick groaned and leaned back in his chair around noon, putting his hands up over his eyes while Hank eyed him with something resembling sympathy.

“Nothing for you either, huh?” his partner asked.

“Not so much as an under-used take-out number,” Nick huffed, “What about you?”

“Aside from payments for cars I can only fantasize about? Nothing that brings up any red flags.  Most of the payments off of these things were business lunches or standing orders for bills or cars or mortgage,” it made Nick want to rip his hair out in frustration even as Hank told him.

Not caring that he sounded slightly petulant, the younger of the two listed sideways in his chair, “So what now?”

Hank shrugged, “Get Wu to obtain a warrant for their personal computers?”

“It might go against the Captain’s ‘mum’s the word’ order,” Nick cautioned.

“Man, you gotta get something and Castro knows it if she wants this investigation to go forward.  We can do it nice and quiet and hey, I’m sure none of their families want any of this getting out, so who’s gonna tell?” Hank chastised his partner.

“Okay…and if we start processing the warrant now, we should have it by tomorrow, right?” Nick’s soft tenor sounded hopeful.

“God and red tape willing, we should have it right on time as usual,” the other man confirmed, standing up and stretching out, “In the mean time, I’m gonna go pick up some take-out.  Pizza alright with you?”

“Hey, why do you get to go out and get the pizza?” his pale partner asked with an incredulous raise of his fine, black eyebrow.

“Because the last time you got it, there was a rat in it,” Hank replied, tugging on his leather coat.

“Knew I’d regret that someday,” Nick grinned, not the least bit sorry.

“You don’t scare a man like that and get away with it, Nick.  See you later,” with that, Hank was gone, leaving Nick alone at his desk in the bullpen while the rest of the station bustled around him.

Well, with no evidence to catalogue and nothing to be done until they had the warrants for the computer data, Nick didn’t have a whole lot to do.  His other cases had been finished before this one had been assigned, so it was an oddly empty day for him.  Still, a man like Nick Burkhardt was never really idle.  Even when his body wasn’t working, his considerable energy meant that his brain was firing away and it led him down some interesting paths.  He laid out all the information they had again in his mind and ran over it…they had four vics, no indication of murder or kidnapping or suicide, no indication of hiccups in their daily schedule for at least the past year and no traces of them since they’d vanished.  It was one hell of a strange case and strange cases usually meant…

His hand was out and reaching for his phone before he could even finish the thought.

~***~

The little pale-yellow beetle was going merrily down Powell Boulevard on the route back to Portland from Gresham, its occupant having completed a house call only a little while earlier.  The sounds of Schubert’s Winterreise poured out from the somewhat dubious tape-deck the little bug sported, the man inside humming along with the tenor as he sang in German about a tree.  The sun was catching in his soft brown eyes as he leaned his head out the window to get a whiff of the day.  He didn’t leave it out for long since it wasn’t the best idea on a crowded road, but what the hell? Sometimes a guy just had to feel the wind in his hair.  The music hit a swell just as the sounds of a ringing phone filled his right ear and he quickly moved to turn down the song and answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Monroe, I have a question for you,” came Nick’s voice from the other end.

The Blutbad sighed and sincerely hoped that Nick could hear his eye-roll, “Still not your personal Grimmopedia, Nick.  Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I am at work, but listen, Monroe…”

The wolf-man felt himself perk up faster than a puppy being offered ‘walkies’, “Wait, is this a work request?”

“Sorta.  Okay, so…”

“Is this cop work or Grimm work, cause man, if you’ve figured out what’s been staking my house out – ”

“Monroe!”

Monroe made a turn and blinked at the tone, realizing he’d been rambling excitedly.  Again.  He cleared his throat and tried for a more dignified approach, “…Yeah?”

Or not.

Nick spoke quickly and in a hushed voice, “Look, I’ve got a really weird case here.  Four people disappeared without a trace.  No murder, no kidnapping, no indication of running away unless they’re a lot sneakier than we’re giving them credit for.  Is there any Wesen that can just…I don’t know…”

“Disappear people?” Monroe finished for him, sounding utterly condescending, “Nick, that’s some pretty hench stuff you’re talking about there, even for us.  I mean, sure some of us might eat a baby or two, but most Wesen are nice or stupid enough to leave you something to mourn when they’re done chowing down.  Just disappearing, though?”

“Monroe.  Are there any? This is important,” Nick pressed.

His friend sighed and was silent for a long moment, actually pondering Nick’s question seriously.  When was this guy going to learn that he really didn’t have all the answers? Sure, there was a very dark part of Monroe that hoped Nick never would but…

“…Y’know, man, there is ONE story…but it’s like SUPER old and even for us it’s still just a story…” Monroe finally said, running a hand over his beard in thought.

“Wait, you guys have fairy tales?”

God, but Monroe could practically HEAR Nick’s smirk.  Bastard, “Yes, Nick, we do, but that’s beside the point.  Or, well, it is the point, but your little distraction tactics are beside the point and do you even actually want to hear this?”

“Just tell me, Monroe?”

“Alright, dude, alright.  Okay, so, my Great Grandmother told me this story once when I was really little about this creature called the Dienstbarergeist.  She didn’t even know if it was Wesen or not.  Apparently, in the story, the Dienstbarergeist was kind of like a judge.  If you were really naughty, he’d snatch you up and take you far away where he could watch you.  If you changed your ways and made good choices, you’d get a wish.  If you made bad choices, he’d eat you.  I’m not sure about that last part though.  Most of my Great Grandmother’s stories ended with someone getting eaten,” Monroe narrated while he merged onto the SR 5.

“Do you think this…Dienstbarergeist actually exists?” Nick asked, actually believing this.

“I don’t know, dude! My Great Grandmother was nuts.  There might really be a Dienstbarergeist, but my family wouldn’t be the one to know!”

“Mine would.”

Monroe let out a little whoosh of breath, hearing the dour note in his friend’s voice, “Yeah.  Yeah I guess they would.  We taking a trip to the trailer tonight then? It’d be good to, y’know, get a heads-up now so I can bring some food along.  Man cannot survive on processed potato snacks alone, Nick.”

“Yeah.  If there IS such a thing as a Dienstbarergeist, I might really need your help.  Who knows? Maybe this might explain that weird smell outside your house,” Nick said from his end.

“Oh yeah.  Thanks, Nick.  Help a guy rest easy, why don’t you? Nothing like having the Wesen equivalent of Judge Dredd lurking in your back yard to help you sleep at night.”

“Sorry about that.  Just thinking out loud.”

“Do it a little quieter, would you man?”

“Yeah.  So, will I see you tonight?”

“Be there with bells on.”

There was silence at the other end of the line, forcing Monroe to splutter out, “Not LITERAL bells, Nick!”

“Sorry, it’s just that I’ve seen your Christmas decorations.”

“Oh for the love of – Get back to work, Nick! I’ll see you tonight,” The Blutbad bit out to the sound of the Grimm’s soft, huffing laughter before hanging up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Monroe tear the trailer apart in search of the Dienstbarergeist and discuss matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely and 100 percent apologize for the tardiness of this chapter. I got wrapped up in finishing some acting work and the time got away from me! A HUGE thanks to everyone who commented. You're lovely!
> 
> Unbeta'd as ever.

 

"What He Found There"  
Chapter Three

~***~

 

A few more hours at the precinct proved that there was nothing more to be done on the current case and saw Nick packing up to head out.  They couldn’t even dream of having a warrant until tomorrow and he had other work to do.  Maybe if his ancestors had been particularly diligent (and there was a shred of legitimacy to this lead) he could consider getting a full night’s sleep for once.  His hopes weren’t high as he climbed into his truck, but a man could still dream, couldn’t he? Sighing a bit to himself, the detective pulled out and started the drive to the trailer.

It was already threatening to be a wet night in Portland, great grey clouds drifting full-bellied over the horizon.  The air was thick with the promise of an oncoming storm.  Nick could almost taste the humidity lingering in the cabin of the truck as he bounced over a pothole in one of the lesser used roads winding back towards the trailer park.  It could be worse.  At least he was going to be inside…or at least he planned to be.  The Wesen world wasn’t often kind enough to schedule shenanigans around Nick’s hopes, dreams and plans…more the pity.

When he finally pulled up to the trailer, he could already see Monroe’s pale yellow bug nestled neatly up against the side where it couldn’t be seen from the road.  It was times like this that made him bless the blutbad’s paranoia.  Monroe was well-known enough in this city that there was always the risk someone would recognize his car even if they didn’t recognize Nick’s.  There was no guarantee anybody who knew either of them would have any business all the way out here, but it did pay to have an eye out.  The car was empty, which meant that the other man had already gone in and was hopefully already having a look around through his old books.  Nick parked and went in to join him.

When he opened the squeaking door to the old trailer, he was greeted by the smell of food…it smelled like pesto and cheese and that…that was AWESOME.  Nick’s stomach made itself known with a rumbling growl.

Monroe looked up from one of the small tables with a deceptively innocent, wide-eyed look, “Dude, I hope you didn’t invite a Jagerbar with you.  Those guys eat like crazy and I only packed enough for two.”

“You are some kind of life-saver, Monroe,” Nick said as he closed and locked the door behind him, practically euphoric from the scent of food.

It earned him a smarmy smirk from the blutbad, “Didn’t realize you liked my pesto pasta that much, Nick.”

“Right now, I like anything edible,” the Grimm walked over and sat down next to the table.

“…Has anyone ever told you that you are the worst at compliments?” Monroe gave him a look that fell decidedly into the realm of ‘curmudgeonly’.

Nick shot him one of his award-winning boyish smirks as he pulled over a tupperware bowl filled with little bowtie pasta shapes liberally covered in fragrant pesto and grated cheese, serving himself.  Still pouting, Monroe did the same, resolving to be grumpy over the double-edged compliment for as long as he could.

It didn’t turn out to be that long before Nick, ever a heathen, spoke around a partially full mouth, “So, is your great-grandmother’s story all you know about the Dienstbarergeist?”

The blutbad, not a heathen, finished his mouthful and took a sip of water before he deigned to answer, “Yeah.  I mean, she told it a couple of times and it scared the crap out of me, so I remember it pretty clearly, but it’s not like I’ve ever met one personally.”

Poking pensively at his pasta, Nick asked, “Well…what are the exact details you can remember?”

“Getting right down to it, huh? Okay, so, the way my great-grandmother told it, the Dienstbarergeist…basically translates to genie, by the way…randomly appeared wherever people were going really wrong and took it upon itself to fix things.  Like, in one story she told me, the Dienstbarergeist found this affluent Prince who was doing all sorts of things that hurt his people and it stole him away and erased his memory.  The Prince had to start all over again and prove that he could be a good person while the Dienstbarergeist watched,” Monroe gesticulated as he spoke.

The Grimm took a long moment to ponder that, the tines of his fork scraping his plate annoyingly before he finally said, “Having a fresh start doesn’t sound so bad.  It makes sense…take away a past that might have shaped them and see if they still make the same choices.”

“Pretty much.  So anyway, the Prince had nothing left but who he really was inside…”

“Well, did he pass?” Nick asked with his usual schoolboy enthusiasm.

Monroe gave him a deflating glance at being interrupted before saying, “No, actually.  He proved he was a selfish person on the inside and so the Dienstbarergeist ‘consumed his soul’.”

Nick winced at the blunt ending, “Ouch.”

“Yeah.  My great-grandmother wasn’t really much of a ‘lived happily ever after’ kind of person,” Monroe took another bite of his dinner.

Nick nodded in understanding.  After all, Aunt Marie hadn’t been the type to wax poetic on happy endings either.  Of course, with the kind of life that she had led, he could understand why.  He shook his head a little to clear it and tapped the table, thinking and forgetting about his food for the time being while Monroe finished off his plate.  He was putting the pieces together in his head.

“What are the odds that they weren’t just fairy tales, Monroe?” he finally said.

“Nick, I really have no idea.  I mean, a year ago I would have told you that there was no way and that you were a bone-head for asking.  I still think you’re a bone-head, but for other reasons – ”

“…Gee thanks, Monroe.”

“Hush.  Look, after the weird stuff I’ve seen with you…I mean, weird even for ME, man…I think it’s just as likely to be true as fake,” the blutbad finished, clipping a plastic lid on the leftovers so they would be fresh for later.

Nick nodded slowly, “It’s just…it makes sense.  Every single one of our missing people was from a wealthy background and they’ve all vanished without a trace.  I mean, sure, that happens sometimes, but it’s pretty rare…and it’s never so….”

“Complete?” Monroe finished for him.

“Yeah.  Normally there are clues.  I mean, we haven’t checked through their laptops and home computers yet, but so far there’s nothing,” Nick threw his hands up in something resembling frustration.

“You think your Aunt might have had something on them?” the blutbad asked, looking around at the stacks of ancient books lining almost every surface that wasn’t already taken up by weapons.

“If anyone does, it’s her,” Nick replied, finally standing and walking over to the desk to have a dig through the first book, “Hopefully there IS something here, because it would solve a lot of problems.  We’d have a better idea where the missing socialites went and we might have a clue about what’s been lurking around your territory.  What’s up with that, by the way?”

“Ugh, long story,” Monroe said, taking up another book (one that required more translation) and leafing through it, “You know that weird, prickling sensation you get when you know you’re being watched?”

“I’d say I’m pretty used to it by now, yeah,” came the sarcastic reply.

Undaunted, Monroe continued, “I’ve been getting that for about a week now, man.  At first I wasn’t worried too much because, y’know, sometimes the neighbors get nosey and stuff…but then the other night there was this really weird smell.  It was pretty far away at first, but every night it gets a little bit closer to my territory and to be honest, it’s starting to freak me out a little.”

Nick was quiet for a minute as he mulled over the implications of that.  Sure it was all well and good to hope that things could be wrapped up by the mysterious discovery of a long-lost Wesen, but he forced himself to be a little bit pragmatic…he’d had to do that a lot since becoming the new Grimm.  While Monroe was a worldly guy and had the answers to most of Nick’s questions, he still didn’t know everything and he’d been especially bowled over by some of the things the Royal Families and the Verrat had sent after Nick recently.  The baby Grimm often forgot that, despite his erudite ways, Monroe had done a pretty thorough job of sheltering himself since his supposedly wild youth.  Even Monroe hadn’t met every kind of Wesen, not even the kinds he’d heard of, and so there were bound to be smells that he couldn’t categorize.  What if this thing lurking in the woods just beyond his territory was so much worse than the nebulous threat of a maybe-monster?   Monroe had already had the crap kicked out of him once for associating with Nick, who’s to say something new hadn’t come along to finish the job.

Monroe seemed to notice his normally garrulous friend’s pointed silence, “…Dude? You gonna help me out here, or what?”

It snapped Nick out of his morose reverie, “Huh? Yeah, sure.  Sorry.  Just a little tired.”

There was a single second of silence before Monroe countered with, “Bullshit, Nick.”

“What?”

“Nick, you’ve come over to my house depressed, agitated or otherwise unpleasant a least a thousand times by now.  Don’t think I don’t know when you’re brooding about something.  Give me more credit than that,” the other man was giving him a sharp look over the edge of the yellowing book in front of him.

Nick put his own book down with a thump, trying to figure out what to say.  Monroe didn’t give him a chance before going on.

“I know I don’t get out much, but I’m pretty fluent in Grimm-Bullshit by now.  What’s eating you, man?”

He finally went quiet to give Nick time to respond.  The Grimm ran a hand through his slightly-too-long dark hair, sighed heavily through his nose and gave the blutbad his most earnest look.

His voice was strong when he spoke, “I was just thinking about what that thing outside your territory might be.  I know we’re looking into this whole Dienstbarergeist possibility right now…but what if it’s the Reapers trying to send another message?”

It was Monroe’s turn to be quiet before offering up, “I’d considered that.”

“What if it’s the Reapers, Monroe? Or the Verrat?” Nick shot at his friend.

“What if it is? Hell, what if it’s not?” Monroe replied.

“Doesn’t this worry you a little bit?” Nick’s voice was starting to do that thing where it edged precariously on frustration.

Monroe cut it off before it could get there, “Are you insane? Of COURSE it worries me.  Some version of the bogeyman might be right outside my fence and you think it doesn’t worry me? Nick, I get worried when the Farmer’s Market rearranges stalls.  Why don’t you think I’d be worried about this?!”

Nick sniped, “You were just acting pretty cavalier about all this.”

“What do you want me to do? Panic? We’re already doing everything we can right now.  We’re safe in your trailer, surrounded by loads of weapons that have been ending Wesen since before I was a twinkle in my father’s eye.  We’re looking at all possibilities.  It’s not like we’re sitting on our hands here, Nick,” Monroe sighed and ran a hand over his beard, “…And I already said I wasn’t gonna run.”

The Grimm took a minute to just consider the blutbad…his friend and partner.  Monroe had already gone back to the book he was searching after giving Nick one last pointed look.  That was just Monroe.  He was stubborn as anything once he put his mind to it and he had very clearly put his mind to having Nick’s back no matter what.  It kind of touched something in Nick…it made him feel warm and, oddly enough, safe.  Sure, Monroe was fragile compared to him…he didn’t like using his blutbad abilities and found himself an unprepared target most of the time, his pacifist nature making him less willing to resort to violence to defend himself.  With all that against him, it should have made Nick feel like a nervous wreck to associate with him, but no.  No, having Monroe there always made him feel safe because he knew he could trust the other unconditionally and, pacifist or not, his friend was willing to lay his morals on the line all for the Grimm’s sake.  It made a small smile curve Nick’s mouth and he shook his head, letting his worries go just a little bit…and just for now.

They had a lot of searching to do.

 

~***~

Sean Renard stood in front of his desk, one hand laid over the file put on the blotter. 

All of his other officers had shifted out for the evening, leaving him alone in his office for just a little while.  It had given one of his loyal Hexenbiests time to slip in and deliver him a report.  It wasn’t encouraging.  His eyes scanned the paperwork again and he frowned, little lines developing between his eyebrows at the implications of it.  Apparently, someone had decided to enter his territory without making themselves known.  Normally, with the lesser Wesen, he didn’t particularly mind.  There were plenty of subjects in his territory that he didn’t know personally…plenty of people whose faces and names he didn’t know…yet.  However, this wasn’t a simple civilian just moving in to carve out a life.  As far as his spies had been able to tell him, this wasn’t even a Wesen they could identify.  It left him with a low-grade headache lingering behind his eyes.

If there was anything Renard hated, it was a lack of control.  Between the nightmares and this lovely new development, he wasn’t exactly feeling like the man with a plan.  It annoyed him.  God only help the imbecile that pushed it into the realms of ‘Actual Inconvenience’.

He pushed away from his desk with a little more ferocity than absolutely necessary after tucking the report into his suit-coat.  He was tired and he couldn’t solve anything from here.  His spies were already spread in a vast network over Portland and they would report directly to his home if anything new developed overnight.  It was time to go back to his apartment and try to catch up on the sleep that had been so elusive over the past couple of nights.

Straightening his lapels in a perfunctory fashion, Renard walked to the door of his office…and frowned a little deeper when the handle wouldn’t turn.  Suddenly, the back of his neck warmed and he became aware that he was being watched.  He breathed deeply and kept calm, closing his eyes to collect himself.  Once he was settled and suitably calm, he opened his eyes again.

“That’s a pretty neat trick.  Who are you and how long have you been here?” He asked of the room, voice flat and cooly confident.

Only silence greeted him and he felt a sudden flare of irritation, but his voice only reflected that same commanding calm, “The silent treatment, then?”

“The time is drawing near, Adama,” said a voice from behind him.

The name sent a shockwave ringing through Renard’s head and he turned quickly, facing an empty room.  He could still feel something watching him, though…so he knew he wasn’t alone.  He’d lost his neutral calm, eyes narrowing as he tried to sense out whatever it was that had invaded his space so flawlessly.

“The time for judgment is close at hand and I remain unimpressed with what I have witnessed in you.  There is such promise in your soul…and you waste it with conniving, scheming and using others as your puppets, just as you did before.  If this continues, I weep for what will be left of you.”

Renard’s heart picked up a pace as he realized he could sense nothing from this room but eyes from every corner…invisible eyes watching him.  They bore down on him for a long moment and then, as quickly as they had appeared, they were gone.  He could no longer feel them, though the condemning voice still rung in his head like church bells. 

He couldn’t help the little chill he felt race down his spine as the door to his office clicked open, allowing him out.

 

~***~

“Your great-grandmother was a sadistic woman, Monroe.”

The blutbad glared at his friend with bloodshot eyes and rubbed a hand over his brow.  Nick was face-first in what had to be the tenth book he’d flipped through, arms over his head in defeat.  They’d been at this for hours and had eaten all the leftovers, leaving them with nothing but exhaustion and headaches.  Even for Monroe the tight lines of German that covered most of the pages were turning squiggly and he’d found himself reading the same line on Wendigos three times before realizing they weren’t even the creature he wanted to read about.  He pushed the book away in disgust.

“Didn’t she give you ANYTHING else to go on?” Nick continued in a tone that was getting agonizingly close to whining.

“How many times do I have to tell you that they were bed-time stories, Nick?!” Monroe let out a thready growl of agitation.

“Yeah, well so were you and you still came crashing through a window at me,” the Grimm huffed.

“Hey, I’m helping here.  Let’s leave YOUR ancestor’s racial profiling out of it, okay?” The blutbad held his hands up and leaned away from the desk just a bit, “And Nick…I hate to say it, but it really may have just been a story.”

“It just explained everything so perfectly,” Nick groaned, standing up and starting to put books away.

“It may still explain things perfectly.  The Dienstbarergeist, or something like it, could still be out there.  I mean, come on man, even you guys still don’t know every tribe of people that exists in the world.  It’s the same for us too.  All this means is that your Ancestors never happened to murder one in cold blood, that’s all,” Monroe said, genuinely trying to sound comforting and earning a snort from Nick at the last bit.

“Yeah…well…I still don’t like that there’s something running around outside your house,” Nick conceded.

The blutbad let out a soft grumble and slid into his coat, watching as Nick did the same, “Neither do I.”

Nick paused, looking over the madness of the trailer and letting his shoulders slump.  Monroe was almost worried about him until there was that little bright spark in his voice…the one that said he wasn’t near as beaten as he was letting on, “…It’s a shorter drive back to your place.  Mind if I crash on your couch tonight?”

There it was.

Monroe ALMOST made a sarcastic comment about not needing a babysitter.  He ALMOST grumbled that Nick wasn’t a baby and he could totally make the drive back to his own freakin’ house.  He ALMOST scoffed about being a big boy and not being afraid of the dark anymore…but then Nick just looked at him and he felt himself relenting.

He knew, even as he walked out to his beetle while Nick locked up, that when they drove out to leave Nick would follow him back to his place.  The Grimm would steal a blanket, crash on his couch, condescend to him by acting like he needed a protector and then totally ruin his Pilates routine in the morning.  He knew that Nick would rummage in his refrigerator for breakfast and then leave for work without folding up his damn blanket.

Monroe also knew that he’d sleep just a little bit better knowing there was someone there who had his back…just in case.


End file.
